


Matryoshka

by Ruler_of_Nope_Island



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Play, Clothing Kink, Dubious Consent, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Fisting, Implied Violence, Lingerie, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding Crop, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrator, everyone is queer in TMA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruler_of_Nope_Island/pseuds/Ruler_of_Nope_Island
Summary: Nicola Orsinov decides that Leanne is integral to her plan. She decides on a unique method of convincing Leanne to join her.Warning is to be on the safe side. It's more leaning towards dub-con, with that changing to be more consensual over the course of the story. Heed those warnings, though.





	Matryoshka

**Author's Note:**

> Cheesy title because "Queer Femme Bondage Hell" is not a good name for a story.

There is no logical path from “you cheated with my boyfriend” to being up against a wall with your skirt pulled up around your hips and the other woman’s mouth between your legs and yet here Leanne finds herself. That clever tongue finds her clit, draws little circles around it, just the way she likes. A whole body shudder. The woman, whose name Leanne has forgotten or perhaps never knew is so very good at this and much, much better than Josh ever was. How can she be angry when the woman’s tongue is inside her and a thumb is gently stroking her clit? It’s so very, very good. Especially since it’s been a while.   
Leanne whimpers. The noise sounds impossibly loud. 

Where are they? In some sort of warehouse? There are dolls hanging from the ceiling, all of them mismatched, all of them staring at her with neutral, painted eyes. She’s not leaning against a wall at all. Instead she’s straddling the woman’s face, grinding her hips down. The concrete floor is scraping her knees bloody as she rocks and thrusts into that clever mouth. A finger slides inside her and she quivers as the tongue begins flicking, ever so gently. Leanne twists, moaning. She wants more and harder. It’s so dirty and very, very, exciting. 

The dolls stare at her. She closes her eyes, concentrating on that hot and liquid feeling growing between her legs. The tongue goes back to circling her clit, but quicker this time. With purpose. Suddenly Leanne is gripped with a sense of wrongness, a sudden chill that runs up her spine and wraps its icy fingers around her throat. But the thought of pulling away doesn’t occur and the orgasm that follows makes her flood the woman’s mouth in a way she’d only ever seen in porn. 

*

Leanne wakes up to the feeling of a damp cloth pressed to her forehead and the sound of rain drumming against glass. She opens her eyes and looks up at someone she knows from somewhere - a woman with cropped, black hair and the bluest eyes she’s ever seen - and tries to ask a question, but her throat is dry.  
“Hush now,” the woman pushes the cloth to her forehead again. “Water is coming. You’ve been ill. But it’s going to be alright.”

She thinks back to before this moment. Her mind is a dark room and she can make out the shape and edges of things but no detail. I was ill when I was in Vietnam, she thinks. I taught English in a little school there. But I was ill and I went to the hospital. Now I am here in a stranger’s bed. Leanne lifts the duvet to examine herself. She’s not naked, as she thought, but wearing something short, red, and lacy. 

The duvet is lush velvet; the room, though dim, is also richly decorated. Gilt and dark wood and heavy drapes. It is stiflingly hot. 

“Stop thinking, sweetheart,” says the woman. Her voice has traces of an accent. Polish? “It’s going to be alright. You’re home at last. Among friends.” 

This can’t be right. Leanne doesn’t have friends. Not in Vietnam and certainly not in England, not after -   
She begins to scream.  
“Hey now,” the woman’s voice is even softer. “Stop that.”  
And her hand is at Leanne’s throat, for just a moment. A light squeeze.  
Leanne stops, blinking tears away. She finds her voice.  
“I don’t know you.”  
“Get some rest.”  
The woman leans forward, kisses her on the forehead, affectionate and chaste.

**

Leanne wakes again, this time to the smell of coffee. The woman is sitting on the end of the bed, holding two takeaway cups and smiling. She smells sweet and floral, like a flower garden after rain. Her hair is wet and she’s only in a dressing gown, something dark green and plush.   
“Coffee’s still warm, if you want it.”  
“You’re an angel.” Leanne thinks she sounds like she means it. The woman tilts her head and smiles, showing perfectly even teeth. She hands Leanne the cup and their fingers touch, briefly. Silence descends and Leanne knows the other woman is waiting for her to ask the question. So she does, because her head is fuzzy and this whole situation is so bizarre-  
“Who-”  
“Our grandfathers were good friends, once,” the woman says. “We should have been friends too, but your grandfather…”  
“Did they work in the circus together?”  
The woman nods.  
“Back when the Soviet Union was still around.”  
“He never mentioned his old circus days.”  
“He wouldn’t. He was ashamed.”  
“Of what?”  
“He wasn’t a good man, your grandfather. Think of the dolls. And the calliope.”  
Leanne shudders, looks away.  
Faster, faster. 

***

Leanne stares at her face in the bathroom mirror. Behind her, in the large, Victorian bath, the woman is lounging in the water.   
“Something wrong?”  
“No - I mean-”  
The woman laughs.   
“I can promise you that your face will always look exactly the same.”  
Leanne turns to look at her.  
She’s striking. Her cheekbones are high and sharp and her eyebrows are plucked, thin arches. She’s so impossibly beautiful; maybe that’s why Josh did what he did. Leanne can’t find it in herself to blame him for that. It’s been perhaps a week and she hasn’t even asked this woman’s name yet, not asked to leave the house (more wood, more velvet, more mirrors and more dolls), nothing. She doesn’t know where any of her clothes are; she wears the other woman’s dressing gowns and her underwear. There’s nothing else, after all. She avoids her own reflection, hating how exposed she feels. 

“We’re going out tomorrow night,” says the woman.  
“Oh. Where?”  
“To meet a friend of mine. I want you looking your best.”

****

They slip into the department store like shadows. There is a smiling woman ready to help to find sizes and make polite suggestions but there is something distant about her. She handles Leanne’s body as if it were a doll; yanking her arms up and digging her fingers in, harsh and impersonal. Eventually the other woman dismisses her.  
“This can be fun,” she insists. 

The department store is completely deserted, apart from themselves and the strange assistant. The emptiness makes Leanne’s skin crawl. No one can hear you scream, she thinks. But the glass and chrome make a welcome change from the claustrophobic luxury of the woman’s house. 

The woman makes her try on outfit after outfit. They are all beautiful, all expensive, all luxurious. Nothing she’d have ever picked for herself; in whatever life she had before this one, she wore jeans and tee-shirts. She was allowed those now, but the jeans were leather and the tee-shirts were tissue-thin and soft. And tight dresses that sit on her like a second skin. The skirts are full, fifties-style, with transparent camisole tops. Leanne lets herself be dressed; it felt so wonderful to be looked after, to be admired. Josh never treated her this way and there had been no one after him. It is fairly enjoyable, if she ignores the woman’s reflection, which was strange and blurred. 

“We’ll have to do something about your hair,” the woman says. “If you see anyone with hair you like, just point them out.”  
“I like my hair,” Leanne says.   
“I don’t,” says the woman. “And change is as good as a holiday.”  
She smiles and Leanne flinches.  
“Now that’s something else we’re going to have to change,” the woman says, stepping closer. “We can’t have people thinking that you’re afraid of me.”

Lingerie is next; bras, knickers, matching garter belts. Basically scraps of lace and silk in lush jewel tones. And stockings, too. The woman rolls them up Leanne’s legs and clips them on. Then the high heels, which make her legs ache.

The woman tries on her own little pile; admires herself in the mirror.  
Leanne compliments her, shivering in underwear the colour of a fresh bruise. She avoids her own reflection. 

Instead of high heels, the woman has a pair of lace-up boots in matte black leather that she makes Leanne kneel to lace up. As Leanne does so she notices a dark, wet spot forming in between the woman’s legs. 

“Do you want me to-” she gestures, not wanting to say the words, not wanting to think about her own arousal, soaking her own expensive silk. 

“Not right now,” the woman purrs. She gestures towards the mirror. 

“Put your arms on either side of the glass and close your eyes.”

Leanne feels herself drift over - or as much as she can drift in stilettos - and does as she is told. 

The first strike is hard and sharp across her thighs and she cries out. The woman sighs happily behind her. Leanne opens her eyes to see her lift the riding crop again and jerks away. 

“No-”

Another strike, this time higher. The woman grabs her and jerks her back into place. 

“Yes,” she says, calmly, and continues. 

*****

The woman’s friend is a woman, who introduces herself as Jude and stares at Leanne with eyes that burn with cruelty.   
“Oh, is this one Dennikin’s daughter?”  
“Granddaughter.”  
“Good choice. The daughter was a pious lump.”  
She grabs Leanne’s chin, lifts her face and turns it this way and that.  
“You haven’t changed her very much, have you?”  
“I like her the way she is.”  
Jude runs her thumb across Leanne’s mouth, smearing her lipstick.  
“We both know that’s not true.”  
“Hmm. Turn around, dear.”  
Leanne does as she’s told, numb with fear. Jude smells like gasoline and sweat.   
The back of her skirt is lifted and Jude whistles. The air is cold across her thighs, covered in abrasions and bruises.   
“What did she do to deserve that?”  
Leanne wants to know, too, but the woman says nothing.  
“Fucked her in the arse yet?”  
“What?” For the first time, some of the controlled tone slipping away from her voice. Leanne looks back over her shoulder and the woman’s face has...changed. Not in expression and not in any tangible way that Leanne can describe, but it is different to the face she had before.  
“My girlfriend used to go nuts for it. Of course, it took some persuading in the beginning, but…” Jude grins at Leanne. “Persuading was the fun part.”  
“I suppose after you persuading her you lost interest.”  
The woman’s face is back to normal or at least as normal as it ever gets. Seeing someone else, as strange as Jude is, has reminded Leanne of how strangely blank the woman’s face is.   
Jude shrugs.  
“She pretended to hate it. That was enough to keep it entertaining.”  
“But you knew she liked it.”  
“Yeah. She used to come so hard-”  
“Happy days.”  
“They were alright,” Jude spins Leanne around, slides a bra strap off her shoulder and reaches into her top to cup her breast. Leanne shivers as she spitefully pinches her nipple.  
“This one’s mine.”   
Jude removes her hand and steps back.  
“Sorry,” she says, clearly not sorry at all.  
“Anyway. We have business to discuss?”  
“Sure. What about this one?”  
“She’s going to play for us, aren’t you, darling?”

Leanne is sure that there wasn’t a piano in this room before. Then again, she’s not entirely sure she’s been in this room before. They are all so similar; mirrors, velvet, heavy wood furniture, repeated and repeated and repeated. The corridors are also aggressively similar and all the more unsettling for it. Leanne has tried to find her way in the house and gotten lost every time. She ends up pressing herself into a corner, waiting for the woman to come and find her. 

Jude and the woman sit in high-backed armchairs and drink whiskey and talk about...something. Leanne tries to concentrate on the music,ignoring the burning of her thighs and buttocks. She thinks of the last time she played this and the photo that the police showed her; Josh with his jaw ripped off, eyes staring at nothing. And all that blood.

Her fingers slip on the keys and she has to stop to wipe the tears from her eyes.  
“Thank god,” Jude says. “That was getting boring.”  
“God forbid you should be bored,” says the woman.   
“Can she play anything else?”  
“Probably not,” the woman says. There are footsteps and her hands are caressing the back of Leanne’s neck. “But that’s the only tune she needs to play.”

******  
“Ignore them.” 

Leanne can’t. There are women standing all around the bed, all staring at them. They’ve been coming into the house in twos or threes over the past few days, and the woman has introduced them but Leanne can’t put names to faces and even the names slip quickly out of her mind. Even when she’s not tied, spread-eagled, to the posts of the bed. Leanne has spent more time in this room than any other but she’s never noticed that the bed is a four-poster before, but she supposed it makes sense. 

The woman puts her hand back between her legs. Leanne isn’t aroused in the slightest, transfixed as she is by the blank stares of the others in the room. 

“Hmm.”

The woman gets off the bed and goes to a chest of drawers which Leanne has become very familiar with. The bottom drawer holds her crops, the next her rope and ties, the top, which she reaches into now, all the toys. Leanne closes her eyes.

Two fingers, slick and cold, press inside her. Leanne tries to twist away, even though she knows she’ll be slapped, which she is, shortly after. 

“Open your eyes.”

Leanne does. Path of least resistance, she thinks. That’s what I’m doing. Survival mechanism. I don’t want this. There’s nowhere for me to run. I’m tied down. I don’t want this. 

But she arches when the vibrator is pressed to her clit. Sparks of pleasure catch in her veins. The women in the room aren’t breathing, she realises. They’re not blinking. The intensity suddenly increases, and, helpless, she comes, quick and hard and not actually pleasant. But she’s wet enough for the woman’s purposes. A thick toy is pressed inside her. Then there is a cold, slick finger pressed underneath that, and she clenches. 

“This will be a lot easier if you relax,” the woman says. She presses her finger in a little more firmly. Jude’s voice rings in Leanne’s head. 

She used to come so hard.

The feeling is...not entirely unpleasant. She feels full and stretched but it’s not bad. She’s still very sensitive, though, so when the woman starts to lick her clit again she tries to jerk away. But the ropes have no give and the mattress is firm so she has no choice but to lay there, her tender flesh nibbled and sucked and that finger inside her, rubbing and twisting. 

The women around the bed stare at her. Leanne is reminded of the glassy gazes of trophy heads. There is something in their faces that suggested that whatever was under the skin had moved, once but -

The woman has added another finger, slow but firm. Leanne curses her traitor body as it reacts; blood hammers in her ears and suddenly that sense of fullness feels not alien but perfect, blissful. The woman knows her every reaction by now - how long has it been, exactly? - and in turn, responds to all the hitched breaths and stiled moans with moving her tongue this way, and manipulating the toy that way, and adjusting the rubbing of her fingers and Leanne gets wetter and wetter until the sheets are soaked beneath her. 

She orgasms; she shuts her eyes when it hits her, feeling utterly helpless.

“Madam Orsinov,” it’s one of the women, those strange women, who she’d completely forgotten about. “She closed her eyes.”

Leanne tries to find words, excuses, anything. But as the woman knows her, so she has come to understand the woman; not her motives but Leanne has become adept at anticipating her reactions.

“I suppose we’ll have to try again, then, won’t we, Leanne?”

“Wait -” Leanne says, a thought occuring. “I’ve found the hair I want.”

She looks into the eyes of the one who spoke up. For the first time, an expression of fear crosses that strange woman’s face and she steps back. The woman, her woman, follows her gaze. Then she turns back to Leanne and smiles.

“As you wish.”

*******

Leanne’s scalp itches and bleeds for the next few days and she winces every time she moves. It hurts but the pain is oddly enjoyable. And her new hair, when not matted with dried blood, is the sort she’d always dreamed of; an abundance of auburn curls, almost down to her waist.

The woman is gentle with her in a way she hasn’t been before. They take baths together, long baths, and smoke cigarettes, and sometimes the woman takes to her to the piano and she plays faster, faster, until her arms ache. A thought occurs to Leanne but she keeps it to herself, because the time isn’t right.

Then the woman informs her that Jude is coming to the house.

Leanne looks at her, keeps her voice neutral.

“I thought-” she murmurs. “That tonight I could lick your cunt-”

The woman grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her. It’s the first time they’ve ever done this and Leanne melts into it, blissful, her head empty of anything. 

 

*********  
“I hear she’s reciprocating now,” Jude’s voice is loud and harsh. “Must be a nice change.”  
The woman’s voice replies, quieter, and Jude cackles.  
“You’ve got her exactly where you want her.”  
Leanne smiles and pushes open the door.  
“My ears were burning,” she says. “What have I done this time?”  
“Nothing,” the woman says. “But you’ve made excellent progress.”  
Leanne smiles and goes to where the woman is sitting. She sits on the floor and puts her head in the other woman’s lap.   
Jude snorts.  
“You know,” Leanne says. “You were right about being fucked in the arse. I do enjoy it.”  
She watches Jude’s face.   
“I wonder what it would be like -” a staged pause. The woman’s hand stroking the side of her face. “To have both of you. At the same time.”  
The hand stills. Leanne looks up at the other woman.  
“If she says it’s alright, that is.”  
Jude is staring at her.  
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” she says, disbelief clear in her voice, “I’ll cook the flesh right off your bones.”  
“I haven’t told her what you are,” the woman says. “I thought it might be better to see for herself.” She looks down at Leanne. “You’re too precious to waste on her. I’ll call one of the other girls in. And we can watch what Jude will do to her. And you can learn what she is.”

**********  
Leanne decides to wake her lover up with gentle kisses, pressed first to her lips then down her body until she spreads her lover’s legs and sucks hungrily at the wet flesh.   
It was a long night for them, watching Jude take apart one of the other women and then being fucked in turn. Leanne never thought that she’d enjoy an entire fist inside her but she did, begged her lover to keep going, half-delirious with pleasure. Jude had kept up a stream of whispered filth, stroking her hair and kissing her when she tried to scream. 

“Mmmm. That’s nice. But come here. I want to kiss you.” Her accent’s stronger in the mornings, Leanne notices. And after orgasm. 

They kiss, soft and slow. Leanne pulls away, looks down at the other woman.

“Nicola,” she says softly. “We never did get around to talking about what exactly you want to do.”

Nicola smiles. 

“With all that you’ve seen...you can understand that there are strange things in this world, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I need you,” Nicola continues. She wraps a hand around Leanne’s throat. “I need you to stay with me. It will be strange and horrifying and there will be so much blood. But you must not abandon me. You must not leave me.”

“I won’t,” Leanne whispers. “I promise.”


End file.
